


Cupid Shuffle

by rebekahdarian



Series: 5+1 Things [14]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5+1, 5+1 Things, Awkward Dates, Boyd Did Not Ask For This, But He Did Agree, Cheesy, Confused Stiles Stilinski, Emotionally Constipated Derek, First Dates, Fluff, Happy Ending, He's Not A Good Matchmaker, Idiots in Love, In-on-it Erica, M/M, Matchmaker Boyd, Misunderstandings, Oblivious Derek, Self Unaware Derek, Selfless Derek, So Cheesy I Hope You're Not Lactose Intolerant, matchmaker Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 17:01:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13252650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebekahdarian/pseuds/rebekahdarian
Summary: The 5 times Derek set Stiles up with the broody werewolf of his dreams and the 1 time he realized he was the broody werewolf Stiles dreamed about.--Or--“He’s a broody werewolf who’s emotionally constipated.” Stiles’s words were muffled and hard to hear, but Derek was sure he hadn’t misunderstood. His crush, he potential true love, was in love with Boyd.





	Cupid Shuffle

**Author's Note:**

> [Gia279](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Gia279) Thank you for being my beta as always. 
> 
> (Beta note: We know Justice League doesn’t come out til like. February. But if there can be werewolves, by goddess there can be DVD copies of Justice League.)

Derek was the last one home after the full moon run. He was sweaty and covered in dirt, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. The exhilaration of the run was still coursing through him, making him feel optimistic and brave. 

The lights in his apartment were on, so he could just make out Stiles’s long, lean form through the window, sitting at the table with Scott. Derek’s heart sped up with joy and terror; he’d been trying to get Stiles’s attention for weeks without being too forward, and he thought he’d found the perfect way to ask Stiles out on a date.

The florist at Fauna’s had helped him select the perfect bouquet of mixed flowers and careful questioning of the sheriff had told him that spaghetti was his favorite food. Actually, what he’d said was, “I know what foods my child will eat, Derek.” And then he’d added, “Spaghetti. Can’t go wrong with Italian.” 

Derek grinned, thrilled. He’d dug out his mom’s old recipe book and had found one that looked manageable with ingredients he could actually pronounce. He could have just gone the easy route and used a recipe from the boxed pasta in the store, but he wanted to do as much of it by hand as possible, and he wanted to share something special with Stiles at the same time. One of his mother’s recipes seemed to fit the bill nicely. 

Since Stiles’s birthday was next week, Derek had went along and pre-ordered _Justice League_ , a movie Stiles had been excitedly looking forward to getting his hands on since he’d gone back to theaters to see it _three times_. In addition to the movie, Derek had purchased gotten Comic Con tickets for both of them. If it was a bit presumptuous—what if Stiles didn’t want to go with him in that way—then he just chalked it up to hope, which was supposed to spring eternities or something. 

The shadows just on the other side of the windows shifted suddenly, drawing his attention away from what he thought were pretty extravagant wooing plans, at least for the specific object of his affections.

Stiles flung his hands in the air in a somewhat frantic move that had caused several dish casualties in the past. He stood from the table, crossing behind Scott’s shadow and into the kitchen, and then to a space that Derek couldn’t see from where he stood.

He tilted his head, listening closer. Was he upset about something?

“I don’t understand!” Stiles exclaimed, dropping something in the sink with a terrific crash. There went another dish. A plate, it sounded like, probably one of the ones with leaves on them that Erica had picked out. They were going to end up getting paper plates soon.

“Give him time,” Scott said sagely, in a most un-Scott-like way. “He doesn’t know you like him.”

Derek’s heart seemed to swell, a grin starting on his mouth. Who did Stiles like? He’d thought, he’d hoped, but there was always that doubt, and now, maybe, finally, he’d get confirmation, and he was absolutely going to eavesdrop. 

“What more do I have to do, Scotty? Hold up a neon sign?” Stiles’s voice squeaked. “I heard those are kind of expensive, but we might be able to find a Light-Brite at Goodwill to use.” Stiles crossed back to the table, flopped down, and hunched forward, bracing his head in his hands. “I can’t get a read on him! There’s times I think he likes me, too, and then there’s times I think he just wants me to leave him alone.”

Scott made a noise caught between agreeable and sympathetic. “He’s stoic.” He reached out and patted Stiles’s arm.

“He’s a broody, emotionally-constipated werewolf,” Stiles corrected, muffled and difficult to hear, but Derek was sure he’d heard right. His crush, his potential true love, was in love with Boyd.

Derek felt like his heart was crashing down through his chest, banging off his ribs and falling into the pit of his stomach. He moped outside, retreating to his car like a dog with its tail between its legs for a moment to get himself together. He knew it was childish, but he allowed himself ten minutes to pout before he headed back in. 

His heart felt bruised as he scrubbed the dishes various pack members had left in the sink for the “dish fairy”, which, tonight, happened to be him. Forcibly scrubbing caked on food from the dishes with his claws was almost enough to distract him from this fresh new heartbreak, which was probably the best he could ask for. It was better than finding that broody werewolf that Stiles was crushing on and demanding to know what he was doing that Derek wasn’t. 

He set the offending plate on the towel next to the dishwasher and sighed. He decided, resigned and quietly sad, that he wanted Stiles happy more than he wanted Stiles. If Boyd was the key to that happiness, then by god, Derek was going to help him achieve it. Stiles was a good person, loyal and snarky and awkward, sarcastic and beautiful in an off-kilter way that worked, somehow, on him. He just had to make Boyd see that. 

 

**1)**

Derek headed to Fauna’s the next morning; he’d woken up before anyone else, which wasn’t too unusual, and fled the house like a thief fleeing the scene. He hadn’t even started the coffee maker, like he usually did. He silently kicked himself when he pulled onto Main St. Stiles almost always grabbed a cup of coffee and this morning it wouldn’t be ready for him. Derek almost turned the car around, but he managed to stop himself, by rolling his eyes and admitting to himself just how gone he was on this guy. He had to get the flowers before Stiles woke up.

Naturally, he hit every red light between his street and the florist’s. He slammed the brakes and cursed each time, trying to gauge the distance between where he was and the yellow light, wondering if there was a short enough distance for him to run it safely. He never did. He lived in terror of being pulled over by Stiles’s father. 

His heart was racing when he made it to the parking lot. Jumping out of the car, he hurried to the door. Fauna had said the sign would say they were closed and that the lights would be off but that she’d be there early, just for him. His heart hurt at the reminder of how optimistic he’d felt, ordering the flowers.

The inside of the store was dark when he peered through the glass, just like she’d said it would be. He knocked gently, leaning forward until his cheek and forehead were pressed against the door, squinting as he tried to see movement, which was nearly impossible

Fauna had supernatural proofed the shop years ago, way before the fire. Every now and then she would tell him a tale about a young Talia and Peter breaking into the shop to play with the carnivorous plants. Derek always made time to smile and listen, even though at first it had hurt to hear them. And that’s how he became her favorite customer, not that she’d ever say as much. 

Movement caught his attention through the darkness and he managed a smile for her. 

Fauna wound her way through raised beds of plants, her long dress sweeping the floor, collecting bits of plant matter in the hem. She had a bouquet of flowers in hand and a pleased little smile on her face. “Hi, Derek.” She twisted the lock and opened the door. “Here you go, sweetie. You can’t go wrong with flowers, I promise. Good luck.” Her wink made his heart clench; he hadn’t bothered to tell her that he’d overheard Stiles talking about Boyd, because then she would just be sympathetic, and he didn’t think he could handle it. 

Besides, this would make Stiles happy. The flowers were fragrant and pleasing as he took them from her. “Thank you,” he said as sincerely as he could, pressing his face into the blooms and letting himself imagine the look on Stiles’s face as he received them.

Fauna waved. “Good luck,” she said again, firmly, and ducked back into the shop, shutting the door. 

Derek returned to his car. He set the flowers gingerly on the passenger seat, arranging them so the petals wouldn’t get crushed too badly. His chest tightened just looking at them; they were supposed to be to Stiles from him. But that’s not what Stiles wanted. And really, what did it matter who gave them to him, as long as he got them? He buckled in and turned resolutely away from the flowers. 

The drive home was faster than it had been going. Green lights, the whole way, which was just typical. He pulled into his parking space and sat there with the car off for a little while. The scent of the flowers was permeating his car; he would probably be smelling them for weeks. Also typical of his life. He banged his forehead once against the top of the steering wheel. 

He pushed the car door open reluctantly, straining his ears to make sure no one was awake yet. They were still snoring away. He snatched up the flowers, shut and locked the car door, and climbed the steps to the apartment.

He entered as quietly as possible, passing through the kitchen on the way to the dining room and starting the coffee maker. He arranged the flowers on the table and retreated to the living room, collapsing on the couch. He felt like he’d been run over by a cement truck. Twice.

It wasn’t long before he heard the guest room door open, the one the pack had turned into a giant nest of blow up beds—which were a bad idea around werewolves but they’d learn that lesson on their own—oversized bean bags—he’d found the peanuts in the washing machine already—and blankets from almost every household. Seriously, the room had enough scents to confuse even the best scent tracker. 

“You make coffee?” Stiles grumbled, lurching down the hall like a zombie with a taste for caffeine.

Derek grunted noncommittally, reaching to grab the cookbook he’d left on the coffee table by accident. 

The sound of coffee pouring into a mug stopped and Stiles’s heart skipped a beat. “Whose are those?” he asked, voice clearer than it’d been moments before.

Derek twisted; he was sure that Stiles had seen the flowers on the table, but he was trying to act uninterested. “The note says they’re for you.” He nearly swallowed his tongue.

Stiles walked over to the table, setting the mug down to examine them. “They’re pretty,” he said, sniffing at them, “but who bought them?” He turned questioningly to Derek, his amber eyes deep enough for Derek to get lost in.

He felt a little helpless. “I dunno.” He shrugged. The scent of disappointment was fleeting; he should have spoken to Boyd first to make sure that saying the flowers were from him was okay. That would have cheered Stiles up.

 

**2)**

Derek propped the cookbook up against the counter, running his finger down the page. He’d gone to the store early to collect all the ingredients he needed, but he still hadn’t memorized every step of the process, so he’d need the book. 

Stiles was helping out at the sheriff's station, so he had plenty of time to prepare. 

Boyd and Erica took up residence on the couch while he was setting out all the ingredients on the counter; there was a brief squabble over the remote before Erica managed to draw blood and Boyd backed off, licking his wrist until the wound closed.

“Boyd,” Derek called as he dumped four tomatoes into a pot of boiling water. He eyed them, holding a big spoon like a weapon, ready to scoop them out and throw them in the ice bath that was _supposedly_ going to help him peel them for the tomato sauce. He wasn’t sure how that was going to work out, but he was game to try.

“Yeah?” Boyd asked. The couch squeaked and he appeared around the corner, coming to investigate what new form of torture Derek was inflicting upon unsuspecting fruit. 

“What do you think of Stiles?” He flung the tomatoes out of the water and into the ice, then out again into a separate bowl, rather than looking at Boyd’s face as he asked. He repeated the process on three more. He observed them, pleased when none went flying out of the container.

Boyd leaned against the counter, brows pulling down as a confused frown crossed his face. “In general? He’s alright.” He shrugged.

Derek winced. Stiles was more than _alright_ , but maybe Boyd didn’t know him as well as he did. Maybe he needed to _see_ how great he was. “Would you want to go on a date with him?” Derek peeled the finished tomatoes, tossing them into yet another pan where he would later mash them to smithereens. Supposedly, cooking was very therapeutic. 

“What.”

“What?” Erica yelped. The couch legs lifted and smashed back to the floor as she too appeared around the corner, stopping beside Boyd. Her eyes were bright with what appeared to be glee.

Lying would be a mistake, he thought. He kept his gaze on his task. “I heard that Stiles has feelings for him.” There, that wasn’t so hard. It only felt like spitting out a ball of razor blades instead of knives. “I thought maybe they could go out and see if it works out.” Derek threw the tomatoes from the water into the ice. This was a horrible way to peel them, but he’d already tried just using his claws and had not succeeded. The mess just wasn’t worth fresh sauce.

Erica slung her arm across Boyd’s shoulders, a grin creeping over her face. “I’m sure he’d love to go on a date with Stiles.” 

Boyd turned his head to look at her, but he suddenly froze as her fingers flexed on his shoulder. 

“If it doesn’t work out, no harm, no foul, right?” she chirped.

Boyd cringed, trying to step away from her, but her bicep flexed and kept him in place. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt.” He flicked a glance at her questioningly, but she just looked pleased.

Something inside Derek relaxed; that was the best he could ask for at the moment. He couldn’t force the two to be together but he _could_ give them a fighting chance. He cleared his throat. “This spaghetti is for tonight,” he announced, glancing up in time to see Erica duck back around the corner into the living room. “I’ll text him. You guys can have the apartment for the night, it’ll be great. Spaghetti is his favorite, and this is a pretty great recipe.” The words were difficult to get out, but he forced himself to go on. This was for them. 

“Uh.” Boyd glanced to where Erica had disappeared. “Yeah, that works.” He still looked faintly puzzled. Maybe he’d been as oblivious to Stiles’s feelings as Derek had been.

Well, now he’d opened his eyes to them, so that was…“Great!” Derek eyed the rest of the bag of tomatoes he needed to get through. “Don’t tell him I made this, you can take the credit. I’m sure he’ll be appreciative, you know how Stiles is with food.” If he kept talking, kept busy, he wouldn’t think about it.

Boyd lifted an eyebrow. Somewhere in the guest room Erica let out an explosive howl of laughter.

 

Stiles arrived fifteen minutes early, so Derek wasn’t quite out of the house yet. He yanked the door open halfway through pulling his coat on. “Hey!” he said brightly, apparently deciding to overcompensate by way of cheer overdose. “Come on in.”

Stiles beamed at him. “Hey, thanks. Something smells good.” 

“I agree. Here, I’ll take your jacket, you can head to the dining room. Everything is ready,” Derek babbled, barely seeing him at first. 

Then he took his jacket off; he was wearing a red sweater, soft and cozy, his hair looked all fluffy like he’d forgone the gel he usually tried to style with, and his fingers were twisting the ends of the sweater like he was nervous. The brightness in his eyes offset the nerves, though. 

Derek bit back a whimper. “So you two have fun!” he said, stepping around him and giving him a little nudge. 

Stiles turned, the nerves falling away. “Wait, wh-”

“Boyd’s in the kitchen, just finishing up. Take your time, I’ve got plans. Bye!” He bolted the hell out of there before he could let something slip. He’d always felt compelled by Stiles’s gaze, compelled to be better, to tell the truth, to laugh, and now he couldn’t afford any of that. He fled to his car and hoped they had fun. He also kind of, in the darkest recesses of his heart, hoped it went terribly and Stiles realized what he’d been missing in Derek, but he felt awful about it.

 

**3)**

Apparently dinner went well. Derek folded the blankets left on the floor in the living room to keep his hands busy while he replayed the report Boyd had given him. 

Boyd had said they’d talked about _Justice League_ , which was a nice, because that’s what Derek had gotten Stiles for his birthday. At least he would like it. They’d eaten and talked, but, Boyd had said, it was a little awkward. That was to be expected from a first date, however, so Derek hoped Stiles hadn’t gotten discouraged.

Scott had shot him half-puzzled, half-frustrated looks the previous night, when everyone had gathered for pack night and to celebrate Stiles’s birthday a day early. Scott was working today, Stiles’s actual birthday, and Stiles was doing some online class the community college was offering, so it seemed easier to do the entire pack celebration the previous night. 

Derek had convinced Stiles to return to the apartment tonight since the movie hadn’t come out on DVD until today. He’d had to fight a crowd at the store and argue with an older woman determined to get a special edition copy for her granddaughter, but he’d gotten it. 

After sending a quick text to Boyd confirming he’d be over as well to watch the movie, Derek got to work.

 

He cleaned the entire living room top to bottom before noon; it was probably cleaner than it’d been when he moved in, but he’d had to do something while he waited for time to pass. He checked the couch and fluffed the pillows once more before retreating to his room. 

He rubbed his face and logged onto his laptop. He noodled around for a minute before he opened his email, staring at the Comic Con tickets purchase confirmation in his inbox. He’d wait to give that to Stiles until tomorrow, the day of the event. Or maybe he’d just have Boyd surprise him by taking him there. That would be a nice surprise. A whole day of Comic Con _and_ time with Boyd. 

 

Stiles let himself into the apartment at six. 

Derek hastily set the fresh bowl of popcorn on the coffee table. Two liters of soda sat on the dining table, with chocolates, candy, and chips spread attractively around them. The wrapped movie sat artfully in the center, propped up with a chocolate heart. 

“What’s all this?” Stiles asked, dropping his keys on the dining table. He looked over at Derek with his brows raised. 

“Happy birthday!” Derek said, grinning. He motioned toward the gift on the table. “Open it.” He shifted his weight excitedly, managing to forget his misery in the face of how happy Stiles would be. He could already see Stiles’s face lighting up with joy, eyes dancing, hands flailing, probably some cursing. Derek wasn’t disappointed. 

Stiles tore open the wrapping paper and _cheered_. The paper drifted to the floor in shreds and he started grinning. “This is why you said I’d have to wait for my gift, this just came out _today_!” Stiles bounced on the balls of his feet, the movie clutched safely in his hand. “Holy shit! We are totally watching this tonight, all night, probably more than once. No, what am I talking about, _definitely_ more than once!” His eyes skimmed over the food and drinks, understanding making him beam even brighter. “Thank you so fucking much!” He leaped across the room and threw his arms around Derek’s neck in one shockingly graceful movement. 

Derek hugged him back, indulging himself and sliding his arms around his waist, pressing his face into his shoulder. He smelled so _happy_. 

The front door opened and Derek stepped back guiltily. 

“He-ey,” Boyd said from the hallway. 

Derek heard him taking his coat off and took that as his cue to make himself scarce.

“Boyd!” Stiles gasped, holding the movie up like a child showing their parent a picture they had drawn. “Look what Derek got me, we’re turning it on, like, right now.” He looked around wildly for the DVD player remote, practically tripping over himself to get to it.

Boyd smiled, but he didn’t smell as happy as Stiles did. “That’s great.” He snuck a glance at Derek, who was backing toward the door already.

“You didn’t see it in theaters, did you?” Stiles babbled. He shoved the movie into the player, fiddling with input until he found the right HDMI setting. “You missed a great movie, Aquaman was…damn.” 

“Nope. I missed it by a couple weeks.” Boyd made his way to the couch, sitting perched on the edge of the cushion. He put his hands on his thighs, his expression carefully blank. Which was apparently one of the things Stiles liked about him.

“Have fun.” Derek smiled and waved, lifting his coat in a salute.

Stiles stiffened and straighten up, gaping back at him as his scent soured. “Wh-what?”

“I’m not trying to intrude; you can just text me when you’re done.” Derek didn’t wait to see Stiles’s reaction. He turned and bolted from the apartment, closing the door tightly behind him. It was just as well. Once he got over the surprise and the nerves, he was sure they’d be fine.

 

**4)**

“How was the movie?” Derek asked, holding the phone to his ear. 

Stiles and Boyd had left the apartment right after the movie ended, apparently not lingering. Most of the food and drinks were untouched, but all of the chocolates were gone. His mind immediately jumped to all the places they could have possibly eaten them off of and the couch wasn’t one of them. 

He chewed on the inside of his lips. Had they kissed? 

“Good,” Boyd said. He sounded distracted. Was Stiles with him again? 

Derek dug the pads of his fingers into his eyes. He couldn’t do this. But it was for Stiles, it was to make him happy. He could do this. He _was_ doing this. 

“Boss?” 

Derek jumped, realizing he’d been grumbling under his breath. “Sorry. So, Comic Con is tomorrow.” The line went silent, all background noise gone. Derek frowned. That was unusual, as there was almost always some sort of noise, even just someone breathing. “Yeah, the tickets,” he continued, clearing his throat. “I think you should take Stiles.”

There was still no sound. 

He pulled the phone away from his ear, the screen said the call was still going. “Boyd?”

“Yes,” Boyd’s voice came back, along with all the rest of the background noise. “Yes, I’ll take him.” He didn’t sound as happy as he should have. “Are you sure _you_ don’t want to go?”

Derek bit his lip harder because _yes_ , he wanted to go, but…“No, I’m fine.”

Boyd took a steadying breath. He sounded almost exasperated, but Derek couldn’t really get a read on his tone. “Alright. I’ll swing by in the morning and pick them up.”

“Oh my _God_ ,” Erica exploded, gasping loudly.

Derek scowled. “What’s Erica doing over there? I thought you’d be with Stiles.”

“She’s getting kicked out.” Boyd growled warningly. 

Erica laughed harder, then the sound quickly became muffled, followed by a thump. She’d either covered her face or Boyd had shoved her somewhere. Maybe a closet. 

“Thanks, Boyd,” Derek muttered.

“Sure thing.” There was a moment of silence, then Boyd sighed. “Want me to tell you what happens?” he asked at last.

Derek sighed, too. “Yes, please.” He was apparently a masochist. “I’ll leave the tickets on the table.”

“Alright. Thanks.” 

Derek had to remember that the stoicism and the quiet, bland tone were apparently things Stiles liked in Boyd, and he should try to appreciate that rather than gritting his teeth at what sounded like complete apathy at the idea of spending an entire day with Stiles. 

He went to hang out at Fauna’s for the rest of the evening; that would give the two of them some privacy and let him avoid the whole scene. He couldn’t help checking his phone though, buzzing with Snapchat alerts. One was from Boyd, a picture of Stiles’s face overjoyed with excitement, clutching the tickets. He looked…great. 

Derek shored up his resolve. He was just happy that Stiles seemed to be happy with the tickets. He tapped to the pictures Stiles had sent. Most of them were of the tickets themselves, blurry from his shaky excitement, though one of them was of him kissing Boyd’s cheek. Derek decided the rest could wait until later and put his phone away. 

“If you’re going to stand there, grab some of the mulch for me, please,” Fauna called.

Derek pushed off the counter. “Coming!” 

 

**5)**

Derek spent the day they were coming back from Comic Con making plans. It would be perfect for them, a romantic dinner for two at a restaurant, not at the apartment. At least Derek wouldn’t have to flee his own house in this case.

“Hi,” he said, overly bright, “I need to make a reservation for tonight.”

“ _Alright, sir, under what name?_ ”

He sighed. “Vernon Boyd, uh, the Third,” he added awkwardly. 

“ _How many will be in the party?_ ”

“Just two.” He rubbed his eyes. “Do you guys have spaghetti?” he asked unexpectedly. 

“ _Yes, sir, we are an Italian restaurant. We serve spaghetti._ ” 

Derek winced, then, as the thought occurred to him, he asked, “Do any of your dishes contain kiwi?”

“ _Yes, a couple of our desserts have kiwi. Does your party have an allergy, sir?_ ”

He grimaced. “Yes.” It wasn’t a big deal, right? Just one friend looking out. Plus, he was the alpha. He was supposed to make sure the whole pack was taken care of. So he was just going to make sure that the restaurant didn’t accidentally serve Stiles death in a dessert bowl. “Yes, one of the two is allergic to kiwi.”

“ _I’ve made a note of it, sir. Is there anything else I can help you with today, sir?_ ”

“No, that’s it. Thank you so much.”

“ _Have a great day, sir._ ” 

Derek set his phone down and nodded. That was taken care of, at least. He looked around. It seemed like the kitchen could use some cleaning.

 

“Derek.” Boyd sat across from him at the dining room table, sometime after the kitchen was sparkling. “This thing between Stiles and me, it’s just not going to work.”

Derek stared at his hands. Hopefully Stiles wouldn’t be too crushed. “Did you guys not have fun?” he asked, glancing up slowly. 

Boyd pressed his fingers against his lips, choosing his words carefully. “We had fun. Stiles had a blast, got all sorts of pictures and signatures and things.”

Derek smiled. “That’s great! So why isn’t it working?”

Boyd leveled him an unreadable expression, and Derek wasn’t able to smell any particular emotion behind the look. _Stoic._

“Just one more try, please. I made dinner reservations at Tony’s.” Derek flexed his fingers against the table. “I swear, this is the last one, then I’ll stop.” He didn’t want to see Stiles upset, but he also couldn’t push this if it wasn’t meant to be. 

“I’ll meet him at Tony’s,” Boyd said, “but this is the _last_ time. You don’t know Stiles as well as you think you do! It’s my turn to set up a date.”

Derek wasn’t sure what his face did, but it must have been spectacular, because Boyd stood, clasped a hand on his shoulder, and left. Derek rubbed his chest and stood. 

Boyd called him at 8PM to tell him that the date had failed. Apparently, Stiles saw Boyd and walked out of the restaurant. Maybe he was nervous. Derek wondered how much it would cost to rent out a party room in a restaurant so that they’d have some privacy…

 

 

**+1**

Derek would be lying if he said he wasn’t disappointed. Stiles had been avoiding the apartment since he left Boyd at the restaurant. Boyd, Erica, and Scott hadn’t come over either, for that matter. It left Derek alone to wallow in disappointment and the sensation that he’d done something wrong with no idea of how to fix it.

He loafed on the couch, flipping aimlessly through the TV channels. Nothing caught his attention even on the second time through, so he turned the TV off with a sigh. This was not an ideal situation. Maybe he should call Stiles, try to explain, and apologize that it hadn’t worked out. 

His fingers hovered over his phone. It was Friday night; Stiles was probably busy. He sighed again and left the phone untouched on the cushion next to him.

 

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when his phone rang.

A picture of Boyd about to sneeze lit the screen. Derek smiled reflexively; Erica had snapped the picture weeks ago with Derek’s phone, then proceeded to assign it as Boyd’s contact picture. As far as Derek knew, Boyd still wasn’t aware, since he didn’t normally call Derek when they were in the same room.

“Hello,” he answered, clearing his throat to make sure he didn’t sound as unhappy as he felt.

“Hi,” Boyd said. The clatter of dishes and general background noise nearly drowned out his words. “How soon do you think you can get over to Stiles’s house?”

Derek sprang up. “I’m leaving right now.” He hunted around for his left shoe, holding the phone flush to his face. “What’s wrong? Is everything okay?” He stood, shoe clutched like a prize in his hand, and looked around for his keys.

“Everything’s fine, just come on over.”

“Wait, you’re there too? Who’s-” The phone call ended. Derek muttered under his breath, sprinting to his room; at least he could put on a clean shirt, since he hadn’t changed since yesterday. After a hesitation, he decided to brush his teeth, since Boyd had said it wasn’t an emergency. Then, snatching his keys off the toilet tank—why?—he made a beeline for the door. 

The drive to the Stilinski house was only fifteen minutes, if you hit all the green lights and had no traffic. Derek made it in seven. 

He shut the car off, looking up at the lit windows. He got a sudden sense of déjà vu when he saw Stiles sitting at the table with Scott. This time, instead of lamenting about his crush, his head was thrown back in a laugh that Derek didn’t need his heightened senses to hear. He smiled; Stiles was happy. 

He left the car and headed up the stairs, knocking on the door politely, though he knew at least three people had heard him coming. 

“I’ll get it!” Boyd called. There was a shuffle-thump sound, like he’d tripped over something—probably that obnoxious floor rug the Sheriff insisted on keeping. The door swung open and Boyd stared at Derek for a moment, his eyes sweeping up and down like he was sizing him up. “Good enough, get in here.” He stepped back, allowing room for Derek to pass. 

Derek stepped through the doorway. 

Erica looked up from her seat on the couch, saw him, and doubled up in laughter.

Derek scowled at her; it wasn’t as if he’d stumbled over here wearing bright orange. He was _never_ forgiving Isaac for that. The scent of tomatoes and cooking meat filled the whole downstairs of the house; it smelled so good his mouth started watering.

He shook himself and followed Boyd into the dining room and kitchen. 

Stiles looked up from his spot at the table and beamed, the corners of his eyes crinkling in inexplicable amusement; Derek was starting to wonder what the joke was. 

Scott turned, a crooked grin on his lips. “Heard you’ve been playing matchmaker,” he said, leaning back in his seat to face Derek straight on.

Derek’s face burned and he looked down; if this was why they’d called him over here, he was going back home.

Stiles chuckled, making the flush deepen on Derek’s face, and contradicted himself by saying, “Leave him alone, Scotty. It’s the thought that counts.”

Derek’s head lifted cautiously. 

Stiles winked at him, then glanced to at Boyd by the stove. “Is the food ready yet?”

He heaved an annoyed sigh. “The more you ask, the longer it feels like it takes to cook. Eat a snack if you’re that hungry.” He tapped the end of a wooden spoon against his hip, reminding Derek unexpectedly of his mother ready to swat at Cora for trying to get into the still-cooking food.

“I’m not starving, I want the rest of you out,” Stiles quipped, throwing a quick glance in Erica’s direction. “Derek and I can finish cooking together.”

Derek frowned, caught off guard. “I don’t understand.” He examined Stiles’s face, but he just looked pleased with himself and excited, lights dancing in his eyes. 

Scott stood up, motioning for Derek to take his seat at the table. 

He did as he was told, looking back and forth from Scott to Stiles. 

“It’s close enough.” Boyd flicked off the stove. “If the noodles are slightly crunchy, don’t blame me. You can just eat it al dente.” He shrugged. “It should continue to cook even with the heat off though, so you ought to be fine.”

“Call me.” Scott grinned mischievously at Stiles. “All the details.”

Stiles shooed him toward the door as the back of his neck turned pink.

Boyd and Erica followed before Stiles could flap at them next. “Have a nice date!” Erica called from the front porch, grinning wickedly before slamming the door.

Derek turned to look at Stiles. “Date?” His heart leaped. Boyd hadn’t set up another date for himself and Stiles to go on; he’d set one up for Stiles and _Derek_. He reminded himself not to get excited, that this might not be what it seems, breathe, don’t jump to conclusions. 

Stiles smiled at him, returning to the kitchen. “I don’t think this will be as good as the spaghetti you made,” he admitted. “We followed the recipe on the box.” He split the noodles and sauce onto two plates and brought them to the table. He set one in front of Derek and the other across from him. “I hope that’s okay.” He bit his lip nervously, flicking a glance at Derek’s face and then away.

Derek blinked, completely lost. Stiles, the Stiles he adored, maybe, possibly, wanted to date him. “Yes!” he blurted. Anything was okay; he’d even take day old sandwiches and those weird chemical cheesy things—Cheetos. 

“After this we’re watching _Justice League_ ,” Stiles said, sitting down. He rolled his eyes and stood up again because he’d forgotten the forks on the counter. “And eating all the candy and popcorn.”

“Chocolate?” Derek asked, recalling that the only thing eaten the last time was the chocolate.

“No.” Stiles sat back down, holding a fork out to Derek. “I mainly eat chocolate when I’m sad, and I’m happy right now, so no chocolate needed.”

Derek froze with the fork still clutched upright in his hand. Watching the movie with Boyd had made him sad? “You seemed so happy.”

Stiles looked at him from over the plate. “I was happy because you got me the best movie in the world, and I thought I’d be able to share it with the best _wolf_ in the world-” Derek felt himself deflate- “then you left. I was very sad. Boyd didn’t enjoy it nearly as much as I did. He kept getting distracted when I’d talk at the actors. Who knew?”

He could understand why Boyd would get distracted; watching Stiles interact with movies was one of the best parts _about_ watching a movie with him. You just had to learn to multitask and watch both at the same time.

“Do you want to watch the movie with me?” Stiles asked slowly, his scent turning tart.

“Yes!” Derek gasped; the problem had been that he’d _wanted_ to watch the movie with Stiles from the start. 

“Great!” Stiles said around a mouthful of noodles. 

Derek began eating as well; the pasta was great and not at all crunchy. 

“Erica made Boyd do it,” Stiles said, focusing on his food. “Boyd wanted to tell you no to dating me, but Erica blackmailed him. I don’t know what she had on him, but I guess it was enough.” He shrugged, pressing his lips together for a second. “I didn’t know until Comic Con that it was supposed to be a date, let alone that you’d been setting it up.” 

Derek looked down at his own food. “I heard you say you were trying to get his attention, and you weren’t sure if he liked you back or not. I just wanted to make you happy.”

“Did you hear me say his name?”

“What?” Derek looked up, meeting Stiles’s gaze from across the table.

“In that conversation, did you hear me say Boyd’s name?”

Derek thought about it. “No, but you said ‘broody werewolf’ and Scott said that he was stoic, and Boyd’s the only one I’d think of as broody and stoic in the pack.”

A smile slowly creeped across Stiles’s face. “I guess it could be misconstrued that way, but he’s not who I was talking about.”

“Then who?” Derek asked, watching Stiles cautiously. 

Stiles got up and went into the living room. 

He didn’t want to get his hopes too high, just in case this was all just a sympathy thing. Stiles could feel guilty that Derek went through the work to set him and Boyd up and it didn’t work out. He looked down at his plate, suddenly finding it difficult to swallow.

Stiles returned with a bouquet of flowers in hand, a smile twitching at his mouth. A blue tag with Fauna’s decal on the side hung from one of the roses. He held it out to Derek, the smile finally spreading.

He accepted it hesitantly and flipped the card over. It read:  
_Stiles was talking about you, dumbass._  
_Love,_  
_The Pack._


End file.
